The Song of the Old Gods
by Ice Vixen X
Summary: In every myth, there is a spark of truth. In every old tale, a lesson to be learned. Will the people of Westeros choose to learn before it is too late or will they succumb to folly as their ancestors did? Fem/Harry
1. Chapter 1

**Song of the Old Gods**

In every myth, there is a spark of truth. In every old tale, a lesson to be learned. Will the people of Westeros choose to learn before it is too late or will they succumb to folly as their ancestors did? Fem/Harry

_AN - Though this is posted under the TV Series, I have also read the books and have elements of both. Also, the chapters will be varying in length as each chapter is from another person's perspective. Now that that's covered, on with the show..._

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire, They belong to JK Rowling and HBO/JRR Martin.

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**Chapter 1 - The Maiden in the Weirwood**

Eddard Stark stood in the fading light of the Gods Wood before the ancient face of his family's Heart Tree. He bowed his head and clenched his fists until his nails cut into the skin of his palms, drawing blood. He barely noticed the pain. The ache in his heart was worse than that of his hands, far worse. Worse than a sword wound, worse even than the pain he had felt at his sitter's passing. As much as he loved his sister, this was his child and he was powerless to help. So, with feelings of helplessness and anguish, he retreated to the only place that could offer him peace and, if the Old Gods were good, maybe even a bit of hope.

Ned dropped to his knees as the first of his tears fell, the small droplets landing with soft pats on the familiar smooth pale roots surrounding him. He turned to look up at the ancient face carved in the weirwood and prayed. He prayed harder than he had ever prayed before. He pored his heart and soul into the words that came forth from him, but it did not seem enough. How could one express with all their being the deep desire to save their daughter from the cold cruel hands of death. A babe mere hours old, and his beautiful Sansa wound never live to see the light of a second day.

After pleading and begging and crying out his love and aguish, he sat back and turned his face away from the blood red eyes. He could no longer look upon the stoic face of his family's Gods. The visage that once gave solemn comfort now only held cold indifference for the Warden of the North. Ned's grey gaze fell down to the dark pool that lay at the base of the weirwood, the pool that he had used to cleanse the blood of his enemies from his sword countless times. The same dark waters he had watched his own father do the same, as tradition demanded. It was as he stared into the dark as night depths and felt the sting of the self inflicted wounds in his hands that a thought occurred to him.

Blood.

Blood sacrifice had been the price of all great deeds brought forth by the Old Gods, if the tales were to be believed. His blood, the blood of the First Men, the blood of the Starks, was a powerful blood indeed. If any blood would be strong enough to stir the Gods, then surely his would. Would it not?

He hesitated for but a moment more before taking to his feet and pulling Ice from its wolfskin sheath. He held the great dark and smokey blade against the tender flesh of his inner arm. Blood sacrifices may have been outlawed, but for his family, his child, he would bare any consequence that befell him. With his mind made, he sliced his arm open with a sure stroke. The angry red wound bled freely over the bone colored roots. The stark contrast of red on white held his attention for a moment and he ignored the pain as best he could.

The blood did not travel far he noted, for the roots drank the crimson liquid up like parched ground soaking in a light rain. As the Lord of Winterfell turned his gaze upon the once immovable face carved into the Heart Tree he felt his pulse quicken in a way that had nothing to do with the pain in his arm. The eyes had alway had a look of crying bloody tears due to the red sap of the tree slowly leaking out though the ages, but this was not the same. The weirwood seemed to weep a steady flow now. Large trails of fresh viscous red poured from the tree's eyes.

Hope again fluttered in his chest. This could not be a coincidence. He had prayed to the old gods and paid the price. The only question now was... would it be enough for them to answer those prayers? It was just as this thought crossed his mind that he felt a flare of what he could only describe as a thundering power wash over him. It seeped deep into his bones and caused his wound to scream in agony.

Another wave of power, stronger than the last, washed over him. This one caused him to drop Ice and clamp a hand over the throbbing wound.. Then another wave of booming power came... and another... Until the thundering and pain drove him to his hands and knees. Fear gripped him as he felt his world grey around the edges and he toppled over onto the hungry roots. Would the Gods drink him dry? Would it be enough to save her?

He turned his fading gaze to the heart tree and used the last of his energy to plead one final time. "If it is my life, not just my blood, that you demand, then I give it freely... if only you answer my prayer and save her..." His vision was going black, but he had to make sure they understood. "Save my little one... I... beg you..."

Ned had no idea exactly when he had lost consciousness or for how long he was out, but he was relieved when he did come to. The Old Gods were merciful and had seen fit to spare him it seemed. But had his prayer been answered? Was his daughter safe? He tried to stand up too quickly and promptly fell on his backside from dizziness, due to the blood loss no doubt.

As the lightheadedness settled, Ned realized his arm no longer ached. He held it up for inspection and nearly gaped at the fresh, pink scar that ran across his arm. Fear gripped him. He was truly worried now. How long was he lost to unconsciousness? "Sansa..." He was just about to try standing again when movement from his periphery caught his attention.

As his warrior's eyes naturally tracked the movement, he was filled with shock. There, in the shadowed depths of the tree's red leaves, were a pair of glowing emerald orbs. This was not the reflection in a predator's eyes, nor a play of light through the leaves. This light came from a pair of iridescent irises, greener than the grasses of a warm summers day, casting their own inner light like twin beacons of wildfire in the dark. The shock slowly turned to wonder and awe as those same eyes drew near and the shadows of the branches melted away to reveal the face of a beautiful young woman. Said woman stopped just outside the last warm rays of the day cast by the dwindling sunlight and they observed one another silently for a small stretch of time.

This creature before him, Ned realized, was a reflection of the tree from which she appeared. Pale creamy skin was framed by dark locks, reminiscent of freshly spilled blood. Long tresses that seemed to flow as if under water trailed around and behind her. Her hair stretched out in liquid crimson ribbons that tangled with the entirety of the tree, twisting this way and that. Again she moved, seeming to float down from above and closing the gap between them ever more. The motion seemed to echo out from her as every length of those deep red locks slid through the branches gracefully, never once snagging or even disturbing a single leaf. In fact, the only thing that seem to mar the other worldly perfection of the woman before him was the jagged scar on her forehead. It was almost rune like in it's appearance.

As interesting as the woman's reality defying hair and curious scar were, they could not hold his attention for long because this maiden with the eyes that shone of summer began to speak to him.

"You are a curious one," she said as her bare feet came to rest on a large white root. She tilted her head gently to one side, as if pondering a puzzle. "Tell me, little King of the North," she began again, "would you truly give your life for that of your _daughter's_?"

Still in shock from seeing what was, more likely than not, the visual representation of one of the Old Gods, Ned could merely blink at the ethereal being before him. No amount of will he possessed could make his mouth form a response to this would-be deity.

Seeming to sense his distress, the beautiful creature sighed and stepped down to the mossy ground before him. Her eyes seemed to dim to a more subdued glow than their lamp like quality of before and she knelt down to be at the same hight as him. Watching the northman carefully, she hugged her arms around her knees, covering her modesty. Though her long tresses had done a fair enough job up until then in keeping her more... delicate parts from view, the move seemed to make her somehow more... human. Less unattainable.

"Do not fear, Winter King. I have no intention of steeling the life from your body this night. Now tell me," she demanded softly again, "what tragedy has befallen your young one that you would risk your own life's blood in sacrifice to rectify it?"

"...L-Lord," he managed to finally stutter out before finding the use of his limbs again. He righted himself to bow on the ground before her as she cocked an eyebrow at him. She was seemingly thrown by his response, so he continued as best as his stumbling tongue would allow. "I am no king Old One. I am but a mere lord. A father who's newly born daughter fights for every breath after a rough birthing," his own breath caught in his throat. Did Sansa still live? Had he been too long in the Gods Wood? Was he too late? He voiced his thoughts to the one being who might be able to tell him. "That is," he clenched his jaw, but forced himself to continue after a hard swallow, "if she still draws breath."

He chanced another glanced up to the visage of the living goddess. Her deep green eyes pierced his own in a way that made him feel as if his soul were laid bare for her. After what felt like and eternity, but was probably only a moment, she turned away from him to face the Great Keep. Her eyes flashed as brightly as they originally had for a brief span and then the red haired beauty looked back to him with a face nearly as stoic as the Heart Tree's, but her voice was not unkind. "The girl's spirit has yet to leave the realm of the living, but she is not long for this world."

A soft sob of both relief and sorrow escaped him. "Then," he choked on the words, but continued on, "then have you come here to answer my prayers?"

She looked away from him again, her gaze seemingly peering into the ether and losing focus. With every moment of delay, he felt his heart sink, but he was unwilling to rush the Old God's answer. He would hold his tongue even if every moment was agony to his heart.

Finally, after what seemed like a small eternity, those green, green eyes turned back to him. Again she seemed to be seeing the here and now, but the gentle downturn of her lips did the lord's fragile heart no favors. "Tell me, _Lord_ Stark, what will you give in return? What would you offer me to keep the girl safe from death's cold embrace?"

"Anything," he responded immediately. "If my death would prevent Sansa's then so be it," he answered. His wife's sickly, tear stained face flashed across his memory and he knew he made the right decision. He had no doubts.

She shook her head as if disappointed. "It is not your death that I desire Eddard Stark," she announced as she stood. The weirwood colored maiden reached out her hand to help him up, which he hesitantly took.

A spark of energy surged through him as his fingers met the cool flesh of her own. He was no longer weak and drained as he had been. He was on his feet in a flash. "How," he began in wonder, but shook his head. It didn't matter. He looked her directly in her beautiful, unsettling eyes and asked the important question. "If it is not my death you desire, then what is it you would ask of me?"

She smiled a sad smile. "It is your life that I desire."

"I do not understand my lady," he stated. His confusion causing him to slip into the courteous speech he had been raised with.

He was startled to see a tear slide down the porcelain skin of her cheek. Before he realized it, he was reaching out to wipe the offending wetness away. He hesitated at the last moment, realizing the familiarity with which he almost touched the goddess. Said goddess seemed to have no qualms with it however. She leaned into the touch and sighed at the contact. Her eyes closed and her deathly cold skin seemed to warm at his touch.

With no warning she jumped back from Ned, no longer looking at him. Her crimson hair swirled around her as she dipped down to lean against the weirwood tree's trunk. She looked almost as if she were... scared or perhaps... in pain?

He reached out towards her, but soon allowed his arm to drop back to his side. He had never been good at comforting women, what chance did he have at comforting... _her_.

He needn't have worried though. She spoke again before too long had passed. "Time grows short for your little one." The pain flared anew in his chest at her words. "So tell me Eddard Stark," she turned red rimmed eyes to him, "are you willing to take the consequences of your answered prayers upon yourself, till the end of your days?"

He straightened his shoulders and told her firmly, "I am."

"And will you be an attentive and caring father to your children?" He went to answer in the affirmative, but she cut him off with narrowed eyes and sharp words before he could. "Even to those not born from your loins, but gifted to you by the whims of fate?"

Ned felt that familiar spike of panic he got whenever he felt someone might have stumbled too close to the truth of Jon's birth. Then he nearly laughed at himself for the absurdity of it. This was one of the Old Gods. If anyone would know, it would be her. He smiled and told her in a sure voice, "Always."

She gazed at him intensely from over her shoulder, as she still clung to the ivory bark of her weirwood. "So be it." With that, she jumped back up into the ever darkening shadows of the Heart Tree's branches. Her hair shifted along as it had before, but he lost sight of the actual woman herself. "Bring the child here quickly," she called down to him from somewhere within the red leaves. "Lay her in the waters of the pool and I will do the rest." Her voice seemed to waver slightly at the end.

He turned to leave in a hurry, but her voice stopped him before he even made it three paces. "Oh, and Lord Stark," He very nearly tripped actually, but her grave tone set him on edge, "the girl that comes out from the water shall never touch the bark of a weirwood. Am I understood?"

"Yes my lady," he answered "I will make it so."

"See that you do little lord..." her tone was soft and melancholy, but he did not have time to dwell. He took off in haste towards the keep and towards his frail daughter waiting for her father to come and rescue her.

His task did not take him long. His poor wife had very nearly lost her life to the ravages of a birthing gone wrong. The woman had barely stirred in her sick bed as he rushed in to take his daughter from her bosom. Catlyn would not hear of them taking the dying girl from her after they placed Sansa in her arms. If her baby were to be taken by the stranger, she had told him through heart broken sobs, then she would at least go surrounded by her mother's love.

There would be no death here this night. His wife was no longer in danger of meeting her own end, merely exhausted. And Sansa, she would be saved by the Old Gods and no "stranger" would be taking his baby girl from him.

Ned did not escape the keep unnoticed however. Jory, his ever faithful Captain of the Guard, trailed behind him. The man was casting suspicious glances between his lord, the swaddled bundle in his arms, and their surroundings. "My lord?" Jory finally voiced as Ned's rushed steps lead them further away from the buildings of winterfell and through the opening to the Gods Wood. The Captain's torch lit their way, as the dark forest surrounded them.

"There is no time my friend. She is already so..." he could not finish the sentence. He would not give voice to the fears that coursed through him. He merely focused on reaching the dark pool of the Heart Tree as fast as possible.

The Warden of the North only slowed in his swift stride to assure his footing as he made his way into the black waters. He removed the swaddling from his baby girl and dipped her in the water reverently, ignoring the worried shout of "Lord Stark!" from Jory.

He cradled her tiny head in his hand as her limbs floated limply beside her in the water. He deathly pale skin all the more obvious against the dark waters. It was as he watched his baby girl closely for signs of recovery that he realized she had stopped breathing. In a panic he turned his face to the shadowed canopy above. "Please!" he cried out, "tell me what to do!"

"Let her go..." the voice seemed to echo from everywhere and no where.

Jory dropped his torch in surprise, the light of the fire nearly going out. Ned could barely make out the sweet face of the babe just before he let go... and she was quickly swallowed up by the pool.

There was a splash as Jory jumped in after him and made as if to grab for the girl, but a blast of power knocked them both off their feet. The men came up spluttering and coughing to the surface of the water.

As they pulled themselves from the water, they were met with the sight of falling red all around. Hundreds, upon hundreds of weirwood leaves fluttered down around them. The five-pointed leaves covered the ground in a crimson carpet and choked the waters below.

The Captain recovered his fallen torch to save it from being smothered by the falling vegetation. His self appointed mission of saving the smallest Stark seemingly forgotten in the face of the otherworldly occurrences, Jory turned to his lord with wide eyes. "Please, my lord, what is happening?" he pleaded to Ned.

The water bubbled and churned, drawing the men's attention. Entangled weirwood roots slowly raise from the water. Nestled in the center of the knotted roots lay two redheaded baby girls holding tiny little hands together.

"A miracle, my friend. A miracle is happening," he answered as he jumped back into the now warm waters of the pool to collect his daughters.

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_IVX: Thanks for reading. See you next chapter. ^_~_


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: I do not own Hary Potter or Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire, They belong to JK Rowling and HBO/JRR Martin. All hail the masters of fantasy._

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**Chapter 2 - The Girl**

Catlyn watched her so called "twins" as they made their way to the Sept. Sansa and Lyarra were very close to one another and she did not like it. Though she kept up a good show, she was tired of pretending. She had a feeling the "girl" could tell as well. The smiles for Sansa came easy and happily. Catlyn's smiles for the other redhead were forced and nearly came out as a grimace on some occasions.

It was hard to love the creature. She was just so... odd. Not a proper little lady like her precious Sansa at all. The girl preferred to play in the dirt and tried to pretend sword fight with the boys more often than she ever sat willingly in needle work or prayer.

Her lord husband and his banner men fondly called it "wolf blooded" and reminisced how Ned's sister had been of a similar nature. But how was that possible when the girl wasn't even true born to their family? Well, according to her husband the girl wasn't even human. No, Lyarra was not a true Stark. She was something... other.

At first, Catlyn had been in such a state at her husband, she hadn't even noticed the strangeness of the girl. She had merely been told that the old gods had saved her baby and given them a charge to raise as their own in payment. Of course she had been overjoyed at her little Sansa's recovery, but she had had no doubt her husband was lying to her at the time. She raged at Ned for days about bringing yet another bastard into their house and how he had truly gone to far in his dishonor this time. What husband would ask his wife to raise his mistress's baby as her own?

It had taken him hours to calm her and even then, it was only after he had shown her the decimated, bare limbed weirwood that she had even begun to listen in earnest to his ludicrous story. A story, that as time went by, had her more and more wary of the girl.

She had of course done her duty as a wife and lady and kept his secrets. To save face and keep from being shamed a second time to the rest of the seven kingdoms, she played along. The girls' birthing had been a long and rough one because she had been unknowingly carrying twins. They had both been given traditional Stark names. The first born had been named Sansa, after a well respected ancestor of her husband. One she had read about in the family archive that was known for her beauty and stead fast duty to her family. The perfect name for a child of Stark and Tully.

The second "girl" had been given a far more important name than her true born daughter however. Ned had named her Lyarra, after his mother. He had named the bastard girl after his own mother! Just as he had named the other bastard after his father figure. Or... at least, that is what she had thought at the time. He had claimed to her in private that he believed the child to be a vessel of the Old God that had saved Sansa and so, he had wanted to honor it. He told her they were to treat it as their own. The only rule was that Sansa and Lyarra were never to touch a weirwood, which was no problem in her eyes. She was a follower of the true gods after all.

It was easy at first to ignore the second girl. Catlyn would take her own little girl to dote on and leave the other to be cared for by the wet nurse when they were babes. She busied herself with the beautiful daughter that she had nearly lost and the heir she had delivered for her husband. The bastards were left to the servants and Ned. A point of contention between them was the fact that he spent so much time with those two when it should be his true-born children that he doted on, or so she believed. Ned on the other hand thought she paid them too little attention and felt the need to make up for it when his busy schedule as a lord permitted.

As far as the girl was concerned, Catlyn couldn't have been less interested in the beginning. Besides the strange eyes and the sharp coloration of the girl, there didn't seem to be anything overly off about the girl. At first, that is... She played, and laughed and cried like all other children. She was no more intelligent or capable than any other girl her age. It wasn't until the child started getting older that Catlyn noticed the strange happenings surrounding the girl.

It was subtle at first. A toy Catlyn had sworn she put out of reach that mysteriously ended up in Lyarra's little hands. The girl getting away from her minder and ending up right where her father was every time. But then, as she grew, more noticeable things began happening. Gowns changing color, bread turning to sweet cakes, Lyarra suddenly going from the ground one moment to being sat atop a roof the next.

To Catlyn, the girl was becoming... well, unsettling was the nicest term to come to mind, and the Lady of Winterfell had begun to fall back heavily on her religion. The Seven were great and from them she would draw her strength to deal with "it". She had even begun to believe that perhaps an evil spirit had tricked her lord husband. She had heard whispers from the the small folk that the girls' birth had been cursed since it coincided with the death of Winterfell's Heart Tree. If there was really something supernatural going on, then she doubted it was her husband's 'Old Gods'. More than likely, some sort of demon had seen an opportunity in her husband's grief and weakness.

Catlyn reasoned that whatever evil resided in the child may be able to be washed away by prayer and devotion. Ned had forbade the girls from ever entering the Gods Wood, so it made Catlyn's job all the more easy. She had pushed the girls to be proper and pious to a fault. While her true-born daughter was taking to it well, the little heathen was pushing back at every opportunity. Even now, as they walked to the Sept, the girl was unapologetically unladylike.

The lady of Winterfell huffed to herself as she notice Lyarra's unruly red lock were already halfway out of her braid and the day had barely begun. And there was mud on her new dress! The girl would drive her to madness yet. At least Sansa didn't let her "sister" drag her into the "wolf blooded" madness that was her way of life. Sansa would grow up to be a proper lady despite the bad influence constantly at her side, Catlyn would make sure of that. The Lady of Winterfell placed a hand on her swollen belly and prayed to the Seven her next child would be as well behaved as Rob and Sansa.

She was brought out of her musings by the sound of 'its' voice. "It's not fair," Lyarra said to Rob as they stopped at the doors to the Sept. "Why do we always have to come in here and be all proper and you and Jon get to go with father to the Gods Wood all the time?"

"Don't complain Lia," Sansa said. "I like the Sept. Besides, it is a lot cleaner than some dirty old woods."

"It's probably because you're girls," her son replied in all of his 7 year old wisdom. "Mother never goes in there and father says you and Sansa aren't allowed in, so that has to be it." Her son turned to her proudly as she walked up beside them. "Am I right mother?"

"No Rob," Catlyn answered. Lyarra's pout turned into a smug grin and her son looked put out. "But it was a good guess," she added. She did not like the look the girl was giving him. "I do go in the Gods Wood from time to time to fetch your father."

"Then why can we not go in there?" asked Lyarra.

"You'll have to ask your father," she answered curtly. "Now, inside with you lot. Get to your prayers."

"Yes mother," her true children answered and walked in to the Sept. The other girl just stood there pouting.

"Lyarra," she started sternly, "Go to your prayers... now."

"But mother," she whined, "I don't want to. I want to go to the Gods Wood today."

"Why the sudden interest?" It had really not been an issue before. The girl looked down at her feet, seeming unwilling to answer. "Lyarra," she said again in that stern tone again.

She reluctantly began to answer, "Jon said that 'true northerners worship the Old Gods and not some silly statues." She turned those unnerving green eyes up to her pleadingly. "Please don't yell at Jon. He isn't allowed to come to prayer with us, so it's not his fault he doesn't know any better," she begged.

Catlyn frowned down at her. She was about to reprimand her, but suddenly an idea began to form in her mind. "And where is Jon now?"

"He said he was going to the Gods Wood," she answered. "Can I go with him? Pleeeease?"

"Your Father has forbidden it," Catlyn replied and Lyarra's face fell a little. "However..." she gave a pause as if mulling something over, "since you have already made a mess of yourself, I suppose I could allow you to clean yourself up and change. You are in no fit state for the Sept as you are."

The girl looked surprised and ecstatic. "You mean I get to skip prayer today?"

Catlyn smirked slightly. "Just this once."

The girl, hearing what she wanted, darted past her in a flash. Seeming to remember her manners at the last moment, she nearly tripped over herself to run back and curtsey to Catlyn. "Thank you mother!" And then she was off again.

Catlyn didn't give her a second look as she made her own way into the Sept. The girl's interest had been peaked and her pride as a northerner poked by the other bastard. If the gods were good, maybe her husband's superstitions did have some truth to them and she could be done with the thing that called its self her daughter. At the very least, she wouldn't have to deal with the girl's unnatural interest in the Stranger today. Her own son and daughter were dutifully in prayer before the Warrior and Maiden respectively. She smiled, feeling pleased with herself as she went to her own spot before the mother to pray.

Yes, If the gods were good, this is how it would be everyday. Just her and her true children, praying in the light of the Seven.

~0~O~0~

_IVX: Thanks for reading_


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: I do not own Hary Potter or Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire, They belong to JK Rowling and HBO/JRR Martin. All hail the masters of fantasy._

~o0o~

**Chapter 3 - Falling**

Lyarra was very excited... and nervous, as she made her way past the Armory and closed in on the entrance to the Gods Wood. She had butterflies in her stomach as every step took her closer to her forbidden goal. She had grown up with stories of the Old Gods from father and Old Nan. As she grew she had of course began to wonder why she wasn't allowed in the Gods Wood. Her father and mother had only said she wasn't allowed and that was that. She had been curious, but it wasn't until Jon started to make fun of her that she had truly longed to go there.

They had been pretend sword fighting with sticks that morning when the Septa had come to get her. Jon had made to follow her and the Septa frowned and told him she didn't think Lady Catlyn would appreciate a bastard's appearance on the way to prayer. She then told Lyarra to hurry along as she went to fetch Sansa. Lyarra had tuned to Jon, about to say something to distract Jon from the woman's mean words, but he beat her to it. What he did was not what she had been expecting though.

Jon frowned nastily at _her _and said that all 'true Northerners' worshiped the Old Gods anyways and not some silly statues from the south and that He was going to the Gods Wood. He had then turned and run from her, after making a face at her. It had hurt her feelings at first. Her and Jon were closer even than her and Sansa. They stuck up for each other. They may tease each other, but he was actually making fun of her this time. Lyarra had always had a quick temper, so that hurt she felt had quickly turned to anger. She wanted to prove him wrong. She was a northerner! She was a Stark. She was Lyarra Stark! and she would prove him wrong! ...just as soon as she could get away from her mother, that is. Mother could be quite scary when she wanted.

She thought she would have to sit through another prayer session since there was no way her mother would say yes. She had planned on sneaking off after prayers, when she wouldn't be expected anywhere. Luck seemed to be on her side for once. Not that she didn't like the Stranger's statue, but mother always gave her disapproving looks for praying at the only statue she felt anything for. Now though, she didn't have to sit and pretend to pray at to the Maiden. She could enact her small rebellion right away and hopefully catch Jon at the Heart Tree to really rub it in his face.

With father busy with a visiting lord and the Septa meeting mother with the others for prayer, she had a much clearer path to make it all the way to the Gods Wood. A lot of the servants and small folk kept her and her sister at a good distance when they could. They stared when her back was turned, but did not like to make eye contact when she look directly at them. Lyarra never really understood why, but at least it made sneaking easier right now. Out of the few who saw her, no one was confronting her about where she was going.

It wasn't long before she was looking into the entrance of the Gods Wood. This was the most she had ever been allowed to see of it. With one more step she would be farther than she had ever been before. She looked over her little shoulder to make sure the coast was clear and then she took that step. She waited for a second more before moving again. The butterflies were a riot in her belly, but nothing happened. She smiled widely and took off into the small forest.

It didn't take long for the scenery to totally engulf her. Thick, ancient trunks grew close together and thousands of leaves blocked the light from above, leaving only patches of sunlight to leak through. It was dark and gloomy inside the Gods Wood and if it weren't for the well worn foot path to the Heart Tree, she would have easily gotten lost in the place. Her enthusiastic jog slowly morphed into a slow, unsure walk as her eagerness slipped into unease.

To Lyarra, the place felt both foreboding and strangely... familiar. Her butterflies of anticipation turned to a twisting of pure nervousness. She was so affected that she nearly began to turn back, but at the last minute Jon's words echoed in her head. She squared her shoulders and raised her chin. This was the place of her people, the Northern people, and she was a True Northerner! She would be brave and not be intimidated by shadows and trees for goodness sake.

It was only a short walk later that the path turned and she caught sight of her wayward half brother. He was kneeling in the largest area of sunlight she had seen in the Gods Wood yet. That was a side note to the tree before which the boy was knelt, however. It was The Heart Tree of Winterfell, a gigantic skeletal thing with a sunken face carved into its trunk. It was both awe inspiring and sad. Like looking at a beautiful tomb.

She tore her eyes away from the old giant and focused on Jon. A devious smirk played across her little lips. She had always been good at sneaking up on him, a favorite past time of hers in fact. It was time for a little pay back it seemed, so she made sure to keep her foot falls light and avoid any leaves or sticks on the ground. The young lady slowly made her way to the unaware boy until, breathing shallowly, she leaned her head over his shoulder. His eyes were closed in prayer and she had to resist giggling. This was going to be good!

She made sure to straighten her features and turn her face towards the tree, but kept an eye on his face from the side. "So this is the Heart Tree."

The girlish shriek that came from her big brother broke the flood gate. She was nearly brought to her knees with laughter as he stumbled back, a look of terror then confusion on his face. Her laughter cleared up his confusion quickly and it was good she hadn't fallen to the ground in a giggling fit.

With an angry whine of, "Lyarra!" Jon got back to his feet and began to chase her around the Heart Tree.

She swerved and jumped over the roots, nimbly evading him. Jon was laughing after a time too, swiping at her, attempting to catch whatever part of her was within reach.

"Some 'true northerner' you are," she teased. "You can't even catch a little girl."

Jon heaved himself forward and caught the edge of her skirt. Just as he managed this, he tripped over a root causing Lyarra to fall as well. The redhead managed to catch herself with her hands against the bone-white trunk, narrowly avoiding a good knock on the head. As she leaned on the bark, her hands began to feel... funny. She looked up and found herself staring into the sunken face of the Weirwood, but suddenly it wasn't the carved face, it was her own looking back at her.

She screamed as pain shot through her arms and her world faded to red.

The next thing Lyarra was aware of was the sound of her fathers voice. It sounded so sad. What could make her big strong father sound like that? Her eyes opened and she seemed to be looking down on her lord father from the high branches of a tree. Not just any tree, she realized, but the Heart Tree. And it was alive! Blood red leaves surrounded her and her panic momentarily blocked out her father's voice.

Lyarra had heard the stories that The Old Gods used to take blood sacrifices, human sacrifices. Was that what had happened? Did the tree eat her?! Was that why her father was so sad? Her father! She focused back on him just in time to see him slice his own arm open with Ice. "No! Father!" she screamed, reaching out to him, but unable to go to his aid. She watched him bleed upon the ivory colored roots, helpless. As her mouth filled with the taste of blood, she felt as if she was falling backwards and again her world turned to red.

The next time she came to consciousness, it was a much different scene to the dark one she had left. This was a different place... a different weirwood. As she looked out from the tree, she realized she was surrounded by dozens of small, strange creatures. She felt so disoriented and dazed as she overlooked what appeared to be a celebration of the small beings. They were... beautiful in their strangeness. Dark, nut-brown skin and most with eyes as golden as the sun, the beings moved gracefully around the clearing that was filled with woven flowers.

Were these the Children of the Forest she had heard stories of?

One of the creatures moved towards her with a smile on her face, holding a small bundle close to her chest. The others cheered the small woman-creature on as it came to stand directly in front of Lyarra, or the Weirwood she supposed. The bundle, it turned out, was a baby. A very adorable baby with bright moss-green eyes and white spots on its cheeks that reminded Lyarra of a baby deer. The mother took the baby's small four fingered hand and placed it on Lyarra's/the Weirwood's face. The sweet child's face lit up with joy and she could swear she heard happy baby giggles in the back of her mind. Her own smile came easily as the baby gave her a gummy grin. The light of innocence in the extra small being, lifted her spirits and chased away the shadows in her heart from the previous vision she had seen.

When the feeling of falling returned to her this time, she was more sad than scared. She did not want to leave this happy haven as the world faded from view and she fell forward.

This time she came to quicker and the sight blew her little mind. The small children of the forest were joined by humans, animals, and gargantuan creatures that could only be Giants. Not only that, but they were all working together to build a giant wall of ice. It must be The wall, she realized.

"Amazing," she breathed out. Surprisingly one of the children of the forest with bright red eyes turned to her as if it had heard her speak. It began to walk over to this vision's weirwood that held Lyarra. Before it could close in on her, she was falling backwards into time.

The scene changed again and again. She saw oaths and weddings, fire breathing dragons and giant ice spiders. She even saw the dead rise from the ground with ice blue eyes, but she had quickly been whisked away from that scene before she could make heads or tales of it. She saw amazing things and mundane things. She was in some places for a long time or a very short time, but she was always pulled away with a sense of falling forward or back.

Finally she arrived at a scene that left her scared and confused from the beginning. There was no sense of awe and wonder in this memory. Only fear, anger and sorrow.

There were great rows of humans tied to posts with gags in their mouths. Men, women, and children were trussed up like so many animals for the slaughter. And that is just what the Children of the Forest did. They slaughtered them indiscriminately, allowing the blood to pool in great quantities at her roots. The metallic taste that overwhelmed her senses made her want to vomit. She cried in great heaving sobs, pleading with the creatures she had once thought kind and gentle to stop the horrible thing they were doing, but her pleas fell on deaf ears. And just when she thought the vision before her could get no worse, she was proven wrong. Small weeping mothers, brought a dozen of the fawn speckled children to the massacre... and added their own offspring's life blood to the gore.

The view shifted violently and Lyarra watched as the sea rose up in great waves. The land trembled and great cracks appeared in the earth across a long stretch of land. Hills and mountains alike collapsed and were swallowed up. The sea came rushing in and Lyarra _felt _it as thousands of lives were ended in an instant. Their death cries rang through her very soul beside those that were sacrificed to commit this atrocity.

Her tears came hard and angry. For the first time since this strange journey began, Lyarra ripped herself away with every ounce of will she possessed. It was a relief as she felt the sense of falling pull her away from that horrible place of death. And fall she did. For longer than she had felt herself fall before.

This time, she did not feel as if she suddenly awoke in a strange place. No, this time it felt as if she had been slammed to the ground by an angry bear. And there was no tree either, she realized quickly. She was in a human body. A woman's body. Her body, but not hers. She was Holly, no Lyarra, yes Holly, Holly Potter... and she was in danger. She pulled against the magical restraints at her wrists and ankles uselessly and Lyarra cried in fright. What was this place and why was she here.

No! focus, she was Holly Potter, the-girl-who-lived, Twice damn it! and she would get herself out of this one. But she wasn't. She was the young Lyarra Stark, and she did not like the look of the scary men in dark robes surrounding her. She felt helpless as she pulled again and again against the bonds holding her to the ground.

And suddenly, like a switch had been flipped, she was sure of who she was. The memories were coming back now. She was Holly Potter, daughter of Lilly and James, god-daughter of Sirius Black... The Chosen One...

Ah yes. 'The Chosen One'. That's what they used to call her. At least, that is what they had called her before they found out about her other title. The one that she never asked for. The one that she never wanted, but was unable to escape from. It was this other title that brought her to her current predicament.

One of the robed men came close to her, cupping something in his hands. For some reason a sense of intense dread flooded her, but she couldn't remember _Why_.

"Please understand Miss Potter. You are doing our kind the greatest service one could," he told her in a sympathetic tone. "You are Wizarding kind's savior once again. You should be proud." Holly spit in his face and the man looked utterly surprised.

"Leave her be Hawkworth. You're not going to convince her," another man said. This one sneered down at her as he approached from her other side with three wands in hand. "If that were possible, she wouldn't have needed to be restrained." He then gestured for two others to come forward. "Travers. Malfoy."

The man named Travers stopped at her feet, holding her father's shimmering cloak in hand. The other man was the one that drew her attention the most though. She tilted her head back to look into the familiar grey eyes of her once childhood rival. There was guilt in those eyes and perhaps he would be her last chance to stop these stupidly foolish men.

"Draco," she begged, "don't do this, please. You're making a big mista..." Holly grunted as the first man kicked her in the ribs.

"There will be none of that, Potter. Lets get this started before she tries anything else. We can't afford to loose this opportunity."

Holly chanced another glance up at Draco Malfoy, his brow furrowed, but there was a look of determination there that wasn't there before. 'Sorry,' he mouthed as he brought out the stone that she had thought she had finally hidden away permanently. A tear finally broke free and rolled down her cheek. Draco was unable to hold her gaze after that and looked back to the little leader of their group. She only knew the man as Smith, if that was even his real name. He was an unspeakable, or, at least he was before the Great War had caused the fall of the British Ministry of Magic.

The Great War, a war to end all wars... it was the reason they were even here, why she was here. The Muggles had eventually discovered the antiquated wizards as their technology moved forward and her own people stagnated in their traditions. They never seemed to learn their lesson, even after the war she had fought in her childhood. The war that had her combine three fateful objects and made her these men's target... their would be secret weapon.

Holly remembered it all now. The way she had failed to age as fast as her friends, the uncertain looks from the public as time went on. The escape of long captured Death Eaters, the public attacks on Muggle Parliament, the first attack on Diagon Alley... the first atomic bomb of her time. Despite all their power with magic, the muggles were numerous and tenacious in their war capability. Wizards were loosing and these few that were left of old proud families were unwilling to see the end of their way of life. These purebloods were unwilling to hide as pretend muggles and unwilling to die. Instead, they would use her and the magic they had come to realize she now possessed.

Draco was one of the few she had thought had changed. She had apparently been mistaken. He had only recently had to bury his son and grandson, if only she had known sooner. It was a tragedy that could warp any man, but his grief would cost so many. While the last Malfoy's visage had grown even more aged, reflecting his recent woes, Holly sported the face of a young woman still in her prime. With the rumors of the hallows and her unchanging appearance, it did not take him and his compatriots long to figure out that the rumors were true. It only took them this long to find her after she found out what they were planning to do with her.

They dove deep into their sordid ancestors' grimoires and, with the help of that Bastard Smith, they had come up with this abomination of a ritual. Blood magic of the darkest kind and her at the center. A source of death its self... the idiots.

Didn't they understand? Death is not something to trifle with. It is not something you can direct or control. It is a part of life, a part of the great cycle. To try and command death to follow the whims of the living? Well, the tail of the three brothers was more than a child's fairytale, obviously. It was also more than a recorded history. It was above all else, a cautionary tail. They were going to doom the world with their arrogance. This crime against nature they were about to commit would end poorly for everyone.

Why, oh why had she trusted that ferret again. Damn her and her saving-people-thing. Draco's grandson had already been dead and gone before he begged her help to him save the boy. You think she would learn... Well, this wasn't a lesson she would soon forget. Nor, it seemed, one she would have to remember long if they had their way.

"Please, Smith," Hawkworth spoke again. "She deserves at least to speak her last words. It is the least the Savior of our kind deserves. Even criminals get that right."

Smith looked like he had swallowed something sour, but waved a dismissive hand. "Fine," he grunted. "Just make it quick. We only have a short time to do this or we'll have to wait another year for the next winter solstice. We won't last that long Hawkworth!"

The elderly man swallowed hard and nodded. Apparently he still held compassion for her even after the stunt she pulled earlier. "Please Lady Potter," he said in a kind voice. "We would hear your lasts words, for posterities purpose, if nothing else."

Holly yanked uselessly at the bonds one last time and her tears streamed freely from her eyes now. They were going to destroy the world and she was powerless to stop them. She was as powerless as that little girl locked in the cupboard under the stairs. She looked the fool directly in the eyes as her anger melted into sorrowful helplessness. "You will destroy us all, and there is nothing I can do to stop you." She let out a sob, but it was abruptly cut off by Smith putting her in a body bind with her own damn wand.

"Let us begin," Smith spoke loudly so those in the circle at the periphery of her vision could hear.

The group chanted in latin as, one by one, each of the four main wizards placed their artifacts on her abdomen over her womb. First, Travers lay down the cloak. Next came the three wands laid in an triangle over the cloak. They included the Elder Wand, her well loved holly wand, and one she had hoped to never see again. Some miserable bastard had found her wand's brother. Voldemort's bone shaped yew wand completed the shape and she cursed whoever found it to the depths of Hades.

Draco was the next to add to her growing collection. Carefully avoiding her eyes, he placed the Resurrection Stone with the wands. It rested at the top of the triangle, close to her belly button. Then, lastly, as the chanting grew louder, the sympathetic Hawkworth finally revealed his treasure. A small acorn was the prize he had been cupping tenderly this whole time. The man hesitated momentarily before finally laying it opposite the stone in the triangle created by the wands.

The minute he stepped back from her, she felt it. There was a pulse of magic that both broke the spell holding her in place and trapped her all on its own. A sharp pain immediately ripped through her gut and the acorn was no longer an acorn. It was a rapidly growing sapling, and she its fertile soil.

She felt every twist and turn of the roots as they tore threw her. Her tortured screams were silenced shortly as the wood pierced her lungs, robbing her of her breath. She heard and felt the angry crack as the roots pierced her bones and rapidly grew to large, splitting them, shattering them and absorbing them. Holly watched through tear blurred eyes and the bark of the tree began to bleach white the fresh green leaves bled to crimson to match the blood that was choking her, drowning her, feeding it...

As the pain became the only thing she knew, her world faded to red... and she was falling.

~o0o~

_IVX: So a glimpse of the past and a very unfortunate trip down memory lane for our curious redhead. For those of you familiar with the lore of GOT, I hope you got some of the references..._

_Extra AN:_

_Just some fun FYI I found while doing research for this story. It helped shaped my ideas and got me interested in the first place as the plot bunnies bounced around in my skull. Thought I'd share... ^_~_

_A tree spirit in mythology : a nature deity related to a tree. Usually young women, often connected to fertility and tree worship lore._

_Celtic tree mythology: _

_Holly- Controlled the darker winter months of the year. In celtic mythology it is The evergreen twin to the oak. it shares many similarities with oak's qualities. They are resistant to lightning due to the spiky leaves as mini conductors. Associated with celtic and norse thunder gods Taranis and Thor due to this. Also believed to protect against evil spirits and witchcraft. New chieftains crowned in it and new born babies bathed in water from leaves to protect them. Taking cuttings was ok but cutting a whole tree is bad luck. As a flower remedy holly is said to rid people of jealousy and hatred and open the heart to love._

_Qualities: natural leader, determined, generous_

_Celtic name: Tinne_

_Yew: associated with longevity and resurrection, it is said their is no reason in nature why a yew tree should die. Churches often build at the site of yew trees. Ancient celtic groves, a place of several yew trees, were places of worship for druids. The long life and rather strange way of regenerating itself was what made the tree sacred to both ways of life. It grows its branches down into the ground to form new trees that often twist together surrounding the old trunk. As old branches die, new life can form within them. It is thought of as a guardian of the dead, possibly because of its position in graveyards. Ancient beliefs link yew with death. Yew wood is the densest around, so dense it sinks in water. Arrows were dipped in its toxic sap to poison enemies. Just about every part of the tree is poisonous, even wood dust, so it also gained a reputation as the death tree. It is now being use to treat cancer though._

_Name: Iodha_

_Oak: Known as the king of the forest for it's strength and longevity. The oak is the most sacred to Druids and the word druid comes from the celtic word for oak Duir. Also linked to the celtic god of thunder Taranis as well as Thor. Oak is the tree most prone to lightning strikes and when struck will continue to thrive. Its wood is strong and used for building. Its bark was used to tan leather and when mixed with the leaves was use as antiseptic tonic. Acorns could be use as a replacement to make bread in tough times. The Acorn symbolizes unlimited growth potential. An acorn can grow into a great oak which can seed a whole forest._

_Qualities: strong, protective, optimistic, harmonious. _

_Name: Duir_

_As an extra little tidbit, when a Night's Watch recruit dies in the group with Yoren, one of the boys tosses a handful of acorns on top of his body, so an oak might grow to mark his place. No one seems surprised by this, lending to a fact that it might be customary._

_...hm, wonder where they might have gotten the idea for that old custom.._.


	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer: I do not own Hary Potter or Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire, They belong to JK Rowling and HBO/JRR Martin. All hail the masters of fantasy._

**Chapter 4 - Consequences **

~o0o~

Ned sat next to the sick beds of his daughters with his head in his hands. He had been given two tasks. Care for his children... and _never_ let his daughters touch the bark of a weirwood. He had failed. He had failed spectacularly and now both girls would pay the price. Perhaps even the entirety of his line would bare his shame.

He lifted his head to gaze at his green eyed daughter. It was possible that his shame would have his family forsaken by the Old Gods. He had been entrusted with one of their own after all. And how had he repaid their gifts? With negligence and failure, that is how. But these worrying thoughts of the future slid to the back of his mind as he watched the serene face of his sleeping daughter.

When he looked at Lyarra all he could think of was her beatific smiles and warm giggles. Her sweet, curious voice questioning what duty he was working on or her mischievous grin when she was planning to prank one of her siblings. She may have been born from the gods, but she was his. She was his little love and just as deserving of a joyful life as his other little love. The lord turned to the second bedridden redhead. His sweet, dutiful Sansa. Always so willing to please and loving to her twin despite her own mothers misgivings.

Ned frowned as he thought of his wife. Catlyn had come to him in a rightful panic. Their daughter had collapsed at prayer and was unable to be roused. Then Jon had come to him, crying about his sister's fit after touching the Heart Tree. It was at hearing this that a burning fire of hatred had burned in his wife's eyes. She had raged at him on how it was all "that little demon's fault" and he had actually had to strike her cheek to snap her out of her tirade. He had never before struck his lady wife before that and, despite it being light handed, the shock of it had at least snapped her back to rationality.

Though his heart had been breaking and his fear rising to choke him, he had sternly commanded his wife to have the maester bring Sansa to a bed and tend to her while he went to see to their other _daughter_. She had still been holding her cheek as she glared at him, but after a quick glance to their gobsmacked guest Lord Umber, she followed his command. Ned in turn hurried Jon to bring him to Lyarra and the Great Jon followed after. The scene of a fully rejuvenated heart tree, branches full to the brim with blood red leaves, had stunned the other lord. Ned, however, only had eyes for his poor daughter collapsed in a crumpled, bloody heap at its roots.

Coming back to the present, Ned reached out to touch the bandage covering Lyarra's head, but pulled back at the last moment. A flash of the gruesome visions he had seen from his last contact with her caused him caution. And what a shock it had been to see the death of millions and the collapse of countless civilizations while trying to tend to your own daughter's familiar rune shaped wound. He glanced again to his other daughter Sansa and brushed a stray lock of hair from her pale face to placate his need to do _something._

He stood and turned to the third of his "children" in the room. Jon was curled into an uncomfortable ball in the chair next to Lyarra's bed. Ned grabbed a blanket to cover the boy with. There was no use in waking him and sending him off to his own bed. In the two days the girls had been unconscious, the lad had not left Lyarra's side. Jon blamed himself for what had happened and vowed to protect Lyarra with his life to make up for it. No amount of persuasion would work on Jon. He was dead set on his course. The boy also had none of his father's reservations in touching his sister, Ned noted. The boy held his sister's hand limply in his own as he slept.

Ned's soft smile at the sight turned into a frown as his had brushed Jon's skin while covering him. He lifted his hand to the boy's head and it was burning! Jon stirred before looking up at him with fever hazed eyes.

"Father?" the boy croaked out before succumbing to sleep once again.

In a panic, Ned picked him up in his arms and turned to go find Maester Luwin. As if summoned by thought, the man in question bustled into the room. Before he could even notify the man of Jon's illness, Luwin spoke in a rush. "My lord, it is your Lady Wife. I'm afraid the stress of the situation at hand," he said gesturing to the girls, "has sent her into an early labor."

Ned was struck speechless as he looked between the maester, his ill son, and comatose daughters. Perhaps his earlier thoughts of his family being forsaken was not so far fetched after all...

~o0o~

A few hours later found the lord in a very similar position as before. His heart was even heavier now. His wife was in yet another hard labor, his adopted son had the pox, his daughters still lay unconscious and again he is powerless. 'The gods know, I should be used to this feeling', he mused grimly to himself. His life was a long mummer's farce of failure and helplessness. Even all of his battles and fights in Robert's Rebellion had done nothing for his sister. He had lost her all the same. Just as he would lose them all, he thought as he bowed his head.

Throwing caution to the wind, Ned took Lyarra's hand in both of his and brought it close to him. He found himself praying to whomever was left to listen to give him another chance. To not let his family suffer for his shortcomings. A sob escaped him and he leaned down to press his forehead against the small girl's own.

"Hello... little lord."

Eddard Stark jumped back in shock and was hit by a sense of vertigo as he found himself not in his daughters' bedroom, but in a forest glade. Greenery in the height of spring surrounded him and birds chirps merrily from the branches. He looked back down to the girl he had jumped back from and saw his daughter. Her porcelain cheeks were framed by wild fiery locks, pudgy fingers sat idly in her lap, and those too green eyes stared up at him blankly.

That dead look on the face of his daughter was like a knife to the heart. Her next words, even more so.

"You failed little lord," she deadpanned.

"I am so sorry Lyarra," he reached out and took her limp hand in his, "I am so, so sorry. Please, tell me what to do to make this right. I'll give anything, just let me fix this."

She blinked at him and tilted her head. "Lyarra?" She lifted her hand to the scenery and with a snap of her fingers that echoed in his mind, the scene shifted and Ned felt as though he were falling briefly. Then, he was back in a familiar scene. He looked on as his younger self pulled two redheaded infants from a dark pool.

"That," a more mature woman's voice said, "was Lyarra."

Ned turned back to his daughter and was both surprised and not to see the older visage of the maiden he had first encountered that fateful night. She looked _through_ him with those fathomless green pools again.

"Does... does that mean Lyarra is... gone?" he questioned sadly.

"Gone?" She contemplated, "No, not gone." Ned sighed in relief. "But nor am I her still."

Ned squeezed his daughter's/ the goddess's hand. "I don't understand, please help me understand, so that I may correct my mistakes."

"Oh little lord," she patted his hand, "you cannot fix what was never meant to be in the first place." Finally, as she comforted him, she showed some semblance of emotion. A small sad smile graced her lips briefly. With another echoing click of her fingers, the scene changed again.

It was a scene, frozen in time. A familiar, less unearthly version of the woman beside him, lay in the center of some ritualistic ceremony. "What is this?" Ned asked, unsure if he truly wanted to know.

"That, Eddard Stark, is Holly Potter," she answered, gesturing to her plainer look alike. "And these," she continued, "are the fools who ended her life and nearly all life in this world." The scene suddenly started to play out in all it's gruesome glory. The screams of the dying girl turned to gurgles as wooden roots tore through her, consumed her. Ned felt his stomach turn riotously and was forced to turn away from the site. He looked back to his would be daughter and pleaded, "Why do you show me this?"

The redhead, still watching the scene with apathy answered him. "Behold little lord. The death of Holly Potter and the birth of your 'Old Gods'."

Ned reluctantly turned back to the ritual reluctantly just in time to see the wood of the rapidly growing tree to bleach white and the leaves to bleed red. "A weirwood?"

"The first," she answered. "And now," she continued, "watch the destruction these fools caused in their avarice and greed."

Ned watched as the tree grew and at first, the men surrounding it cried out in triumph. Those cheers soon turned to screams of their own. An essence that seemed to ooze from their very beings became visible to the eye and began to drift to the weirwood. The great tree grew faster and its appetite was voracious. It sucked those men dry until they were nothing but husks. The goddess's voice came with a hint of vindictive malice at the scene. "The ones to cause The Great Cataclysm were the first to fall, and justly so."

The view panned out as the tree grew larger and larger. It towered over the already amazingly large buildings and the lord watched as the life essence of all the humans in sight were pulled from them and to the tree. "Unfortunately, their unwillingness to step down from power and lead a simple life cost all humans dearly." Her tone was sad now and Ned turned to look at her again. To his surprise, tears were streaming down the woman's cheeks.

"Is that who you are? Are you Holly Potter?" He questioned gently. Was that why she had been tied to the weirwood?

"Yes and no." Again no straight answer from her. She gestured to the tree of death as it continued to steal life from young and old alike. The life forces flowing into it so thickly that it seemed to be leaking from the tree like steam from a warm drink on a cold day. No man, woman or child was safe from its deadly pull, and all fell before it. "I am also this... abomination before you." She turned away from the scene violently, as if no longer willing to be in its presence and yanked him with her. He felt himself fall briefly, but violently.

She let go of his hand as she sat down to lean morosely against the roots of a gargantuan Weirwood. The area surrounding it was decimated. No living thing was left within view of their position. "Gaze upon the great work of your God, little lord, and tremble in fear and disgust," she gestured absently at the decayed land around them. "Death is what I am made of and Death is all I am good for." More tears slid down her cheeks as she gazed up into the red canopy above her. "The Mistress of Death was my title in life, but the title was not what they thought it was," she laughed bitterly. "I was no master. I was its mistress whom it loved and would not relinquish to the void. When those bastards sought to take its power for themselves, Death retaliated most viciously."

Ned sat down heavily next to her. His head was swimming at the revelations he had heard this night, but apparently there were more to come. As he reached out to comfort her she threw him a glare.

"Do not pity me _little lord_," she snapped. "For if you do then you should pity him!" She threw out a hand and pointed behind him. A sense of vertigo hit him once again and then he was face to face with cold burning blue eyes full of hatred and malice. Her hands pulled him away quickly and she threw him to the ground.

Ned's head was spinning as he sat up, but she was there at his side. Gently she helped him to his feet with an almost apologetic look on her face. When she stepped aside he was greeted to a familiar site. A man was restrained in the center of a circular ritual. This time, instead of men in dark robes, the victim was surrounded by small creatures of dappled brown skin. The duo watch in silence as the leader of the small creatures pushed a shard of what appeared to be dragon glass into the man's chest. The man's screams were painful to listen to and in a sick reversal of a prior scene, the tree withered and the man turned to icy cold death incarnate.

A snap sounded and again they were back at the damaged area of the original tree. "That was the birth of the first of the Others. Born from the misguided efforts of my own would be children. They stole power from me to win their battles and, again, the world nearly ended thanks to my power."

The overwhelmed lord sat down heavily beside her feet and looked out at the scene with her. He noticed the area was not quite as desolate now though. There were small tents in the area, signs of life were coming back. And then a small large eyed, floppy eared creature came out and approached the tree with flowers in hand. "Mistress must not hide forever," it said to the tree. "But mistress is sad and hurt so she must rest. Tweak understands this, but Tweak will be here when mistress is ready." He smiled up at the vaguely face shaped not in the bark of the tree and patted one of her large roots. "When mistress is ready then," it said before walking back to its tent, leaving the pretty flowers with the tree.

"They came to me for nourishment," Lyarra, or was it Holly?, told him. "House elves could not live without a source of living wizards magic you see. I may no longer have been a true witch, but I was all they had left." She smiled fondly at the retreating figure of this 'Tweak'. "But the silly little creatures were big hearted and too kind for their own good. Yes they fed off my magic, but they also cared for me. They showed me love when I deserved none. They brought me back to the surface and taught me to care again."

Her face fell, "But my magic changed them. Death and Nature magic entwined with their own and thus chained their own nature." She was crying again and sunk down to sit dejectedly on the roots of her old prison. "They came to call me mother and I corrupted them. What kind of mother does that to her children?" she pleaded with him. "Creating the others was not the first time they stole my power to do a great deed of evil, but it would not have happened if I had not abandoned them."

She wrapped her arms around her legs and sobbed into her knees. "I corrupted them and then abandoned them for the deeds my corruption had them commit." She turned red rimmed eyes to him. "But I was tired Daddy, I'm so, so tired."

Tying hard to come to terms with the new information, he still heard the anguish clear in her voice. No longer was she the stoic goddess he had met, but in his eyes, she was his daughter, hurt and sad. He tugged her gently into his embrace and she wept against him. Her frame shrank and he found himself holding his daughter. And they cried together for all that was lost and all the hurt.

After what felt like forever, Lyarra's tears quieted and she looked up at him with those beautiful green eyes, now rimed with angry red. "Can we just go home now Daddy?"

Ned half sobbed, half laughed, "Of course little love. I would like that very much." He kissed her forehead and hugged her tight again. His daughter was not completely lost to him after all. He had no idea how to help her work through the demons of her past, the ones his negligence had opened back up to her, but he would be there for her in whatever capacity she needed him in.

~o0o~

_IVX: Thanks for reading... ^_~_


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